


Lavandula Angustifolia

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Other, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27736948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: “We are not talking about this.”“Why not?”“Because I don’t need you indulging some misguided impulse to matchmake me. Especially not with a coworker more than a decade my junior.”(Or: in which, Bill and Nancy are in a lavender marriage and Nancy just wants her husband to be happy.)
Relationships: Bill Tench & Nancy Tench, Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Comments: 15
Kudos: 58





	Lavandula Angustifolia

**Author's Note:**

> I've long been enamored of the lavender marriage, which Wikipedia defines as "a male–female mixed marriage, undertaken as a marriage of convenience to conceal the socially stigmatized sexual orientation of one or both partners," and I thought Bill and Nancy Tench were excellent candidates through which to explore the concept. It's from Nancy's perspective because I like writing outsider POV, and also because Nancy seemed like she had a fun character voice. 
> 
> May or may not follow it up with more matchmaking shenanigans depending on whether my writing burn-out abates or not, but I hope y'all enjoy this little story either way!
> 
> As this was pretty much written entirely for my own enjoyment, it has not been beta-read by anyone, anywhere, and all errors are my own.

“So,” Nancy said, flopping down on the sofa with the last dregs of a bottle of blended red in the wine glass she’d been nursing all night. Brian had been put to bed before dinner, and now that the dishes had all been settled and the porch lights flicked off on the retreating backs of one Special Agent Holden Ford and his pretty collegiate girlfriend, it was time for Nancy to run her husband through a dinner party post-mortem.

Bill glanced over at her from the other end of the sofa, where he was reading the newspaper and nursing yet another glass of scotch. The television was on with the volume turned low and there was a cigarette leaking its last thin tendrils of smoke where he’d recently stubbed it out in the end table ashtray.

“So?” he parroted.

“Holden Ford,” Nancy drawled, and took a sip of her wine through a knowing smirk.

“What about him?”

Nancy lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “He’s cute.”

“No.”

Nancy clicked her tongue. “Bill - ”

“No,” Bill said again, stern. He didn’t look up, but held out a finger in warning.

Nancy rolled her eyes and scooted forward onto the center cushion, turning to face Bill where he was seated on the far end with his legs stretched out in front of him. He had kicked his shoes off at some point, and his dark argyle socks — replete with cerulean toe patches — were stark against the cream shag carpeting. Nancy propped her elbow up against the back of the sofa, palm curled over her cheek and head to one side. Her curls tumbled toward her shoulder and she blew a breath up to lift a stray one off her forehead.

“Come on,” she wheedled, swinging her leg just far enough to nudge the toe of her stockinged foot against Bill’s calf. “You can’t deny that he’s a looker, even with that choirboy side-part.”

Bill shifted in his seat, shaking the newspaper a little. He pointedly didn’t look over at Nancy when he muttered, “If you say so.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t see it. A single flutter of those baby blues would forgive much worse than an uptight hairdo.” She cut him a sly smirk, one eyebrow rising, and added in a lower tone, “I’ll bet you let that boy get away with absolute murder, don’t you?”

“We are not talking about this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t need you indulging some misguided impulse to matchmake me. Especially not with a coworker more than a decade my junior.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. Agent Ford was young enough to be a slightly scandalous, sure, but she and Bill were in no position to get fussy about disrupting commonly lauded relationship mores. She waved a hand and asserted, “A little May-December romance never hurt anybody.”

“Sure, assuming it’s between two interested parties who share sexual proclivities. Holden is neither of those things.”

“Please,” Nancy snorted. “He was so concerned with impressing you that he could barely keep his eyes off you all night.”

Bill shook his head, staunchly refusing to even entertain the idea that there might have been more to the lingering glances Agent Ford had been sneaking out of the corner of his eye than simple, straightforward hero worship.

“He wanted me to like his girlfriend,” he corrected, finally setting the paper aside. “Holden cares about shit like that. He wants everybody to like him, even these assholes we meet in prison who’ve murdered twenty-five people. I’m his partner, he respects my opinion, ergo - ” He trailed off, eyebrows quirking pointedly.

“You _are_ his partner,” Nancy allowed, taking a lazy sip of wine. “And I’m sure he respects you, but it wasn’t respect that kept pulling his attention away from a beautiful, vivacious graduate student.”

“Sounds like somebody has a crush.”

As attempts to deflect went, it was far from the best Nancy had heard from her husband in their forty-odd years of acquaintance.

“Yes!” she agreed, maybe a little louder than was wise, considering their son was sleeping just down the hall. She slapped her palm against the sofa cushion with a sharp, decisive nod to punctuate her point. “Agent Ford does! On you!” She shook her head, lifting her gaze to the ceiling and draining another cavalier mouthful from her dwindling glass. “Honestly, Bill, I know you’re not usually the most self-aware, but this is just - just - ” She struggled for a second and then blustered, “Willful ignorance!”

“It’s reasonable doubt,” Bill argued. “Holden has never so much as hinted that he might be anything other than a red-blooded heterosexual, and I get the feeling that even moving past simple missionary was a pretty steep learning curve for him. As evidenced by the aforementioned beautiful, vivacious, graduate student, who he’s been dating for months and never shuts up about. Besides, even if he _was_ interested in other men, he could do better than a banged-up old FBI agent in a sham marriage with his highschool sweetheart.”

“I’ll agree that in this particular instance, the sham marriage isn’t ideal,” Nancy inclined her head. “But if he could learn to please someone as adventurous as I get the feeling that girlfriend of his must be, he might be willing to pick up a few new tricks if you play your cards right.”

“Nance,” Bill sighed, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose under his glasses, “it’s not gonna happen.” He tilted his head to one side and clapped his palm affectionately over her knee, giving it a little shake. “I appreciate the show of support, really, but Holden and I are partners and that’s as good as it’s gonna get.”

Nancy frowned, resting her cheek in her free hand so one side of her mouth was slightly smushed. “You’re just so good together.”

“We are, and I don’t want to do anything to upset that apple cart, so just let it go, okay?”

Nancy hummed, noncommittal, and Bill sighed.

The clock in the hall started chiming the hour and Bill’s brow furrowed. He craned his neck to peer over his shoulder, though he wouldn’t be able to see it from his current vantage point, and then wheeled back around and announced in a surprised and slightly mystified tone, “It’s Friday.”

“What about it?”

“Aren’t you and Brian supposed to be at Donna’s this weekend?”

Nancy waved a hand and drained the rest of her glass. “She picked up an overnight shift for a friend of hers in the NICU. Besides,” she pushed herself to her feet and reached out to squeeze Bill’s shoulder, “I’ve had way too much to drink to get behind the wheel of a car, and a cab to Alexandria at this hour would cost a fortune. We’ll head over in the morning. Maybe go out to breakfast beforehand, if you’re up for it.”

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

Nancy hesitated on the threshold of the hallway. She leaned her shoulder against the wall, picking one foot up to tuck it behind her ankle, and turned to peer at the back of Bill’s head where he had returned to his paper.

She wished he wasn’t quite so unwilling to acknowledge the obvious adoration his partner had for him, though she could understand his reticence on the matter. His career was important to him and so, it seemed, was Agent Ford, but it had been several years since Bill last seriously dated anyone. He could do with a whirlwind romance. Granted, Holden Ford was more milquetoast everyman than suave lothario, but there was something charming in his unrepentant earnestness. Bill had always responded well to sincerity, and Agent Ford oozed it out of every pore.

The age gap was taboo but not insurmountable, and while their situation was more complicated than most, Nancy got the feeling that Agent Ford excelled in unusual circumstances. As a fellow FBI agent, he was also uniquely positioned to appreciate their dedication to keeping up a certain set of appearances.

Donna had been more than understanding when Nancy laid it all out for her a few years before, and despite the hassle that juggling her relationships with her husband, her lover, and her adopted son occasionally posed, Nancy had never been happier.

She wanted that for Bill, and this dinner had proven to her that Agent Ford, while far from perfect, was the ideal candidate to offer her husband that same security and commitment. Nancy pushed up off the wall and meandered toward the kitchen, wine glass clutched loosely in hand as she rifled through her mental calendar for an opportunity to facilitate further casual interaction between the two men. A nightcap maybe, this time, rather than a dinner party. Or a weekday luncheon, if they could all get away from work long enough to manage. Something small and intimate, designed to tempt Agent Ford into attending alone, just to see.

Bill wouldn’t thank her for it, but Nancy had been forcibly shoving Bill out of the way of his own best interests since he was twelve years old and just beginning to understand that he was queer as a three dollar bill. She would happily risk his wrath for the possibility of sparing him further loneliness.

Next week, she decided. She would talk to Donna and put something together.

She rinsed her wine glass with a little dish soap and caught the edge of her own faint reflection in the window over the sink, smirk curling a smug dimple into her cheek.

Agent Ford wasn’t going to know what hit him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm also on Tumblr, DW, and Discord under the same handle if you feel like screaming with me about Holden Ford.


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